When We Are Apart
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: War happens, I knows that. But I can't stand it when we are apart. / Remus has grown quiet, and his lover is worried. OotP. Collab with a friend from years ago; she wrote the poem, I supplied the story. Rosaline is my OFC.


1. _When I see you, I know I should_

_savor the moments and save them for the_

_times that I must go without you_

He's become quiet. All during dinner he does not speak. He stares at his food and pushes it about and sometimes he takes a bite but still, he does not speak.

I put my hand on his thigh; we are practiced at the art of hiding our relationship. You could be sitting right across from us and not see my hand there, gently stroking his leg, trying to reassure him. Nothing in his appearance changes; he does not smile, or even look up when I touch him. But he eats more food and he makes sounds like "hmm" or "eh." I smile brightly for the both of us because I know he needs to see it. Inside my heart is heavy, but I do not show it. He needs me to be strong.

After dinner the Order breaks apart into little groups to talk. I sit with my sister; nothing has ever broken our bond of friendship, nothing has ever caused us to question the other. But when he sits it is with his former brother, their bond still broken after all these years. He might have forgiven his friend, but the wound has not healed, the betrayal still stings. Members leave after a while, going home to their families and lives. I know he will not leave; he feels he has nothing to return to. For hours he sits with us, the four of us, our own little family, and yet he does not see how much he means to us. How much he means to me.

Up the stairs he treads silently. I follow him without a word, closing the door behind me, but I do not enter. For a moment I watch him stand before the fireplace, the warm glow shining through his thin clothes, showing the outline of the frail man hidden beneath. Others may never understand, but when I wrap my arms around him, that delicate frame is not because he is weak. He is so emaciated, so skeletal, because he is strong, because he carries such a burden that no other man can carry. The weight of the world rests firmly on him, the knowledge of what it is to have loved and lost time and time again.

All of this I hold close to my heart. I relish in every little moment, every little sound he makes. We make love, slow and gently, and afterwards I cry. He wraps his arms around me and holds me until I fall asleep, tears staining his chest. He never asks why I cry, nor could I ever tell him. My tears are for me, for him, for all the world and all those children we bring into its ugliness. He promises me in a hoarse whisper that when this war is over, we will move to the country and get married and have children who will never know the pain we feel in these dark days. Often he promises me this, and while I know it will never happen, I know he means every word of it. If he had but one wish he would make that promise come true.

When I wake he is gone. He did not say goodbye; he cannot. He has missed his opportunity to say those words too many times before. Now he lives as if every moment together is our last. We can look forward to the future, our future, but there is always this sadness in him, this fear that we will never reach that future. I see the world in all its color like the feathers of a peacock; he sees the world in all its darkness like the chiaroscuro of a painting, with despair overshadowing all else.

_but my heart gets the best of me_

_and seconds slip away until all that's left_

_is me and the night sky_

Those days are the hardest, the days when he's gone. He has stopped telling me of his missions. Dumbledore tells me everything I ask, and my love knows he can tell me anything. But these missions he keeps to himself and the aging wizard will not betray his most faithful follower's confidence. Sometimes he seems on the verge of telling me, of letting me in on some secret that he has managed to alleviate from my love's burden, but the moment always vanishes as quickly as it appears. I've always been an observant watcher, a good judge of people. But this man I've given myself to, given so much more than I could ever give anyone else, him I cannot figure out. He's the one riddle I cannot solve, the one door I don't have the key for.

Only my routine keeps me going. Rise. Shower. Dress. Breakfast. Work. Lunch. Work. Change. Dinner. Change. Read. Sleep. I wonder about as one in a fog, unable to see what's before me. My sister brings me food but I don't have the energy to fake a smile. Malfoy sits on my desk and tries to get some retort out of me but I don't have it in me to deal with him. Madame Bones gives me case file but the notes are done sloppily and I take too long to file them.

"_Go home child," she says. "Rest."_

"_No, no I need to-"_

"_Rest. You can finish when you feel better." She smiles._

I stay in Paris in my house during those empty days. Gen is there, and so is her baby, and usually Pierre is there too. I stand off to the side and watch them and god, I'm jealous; they don't know how good they have it. They're together, a family, a real family, and all they have to worry about is whether they're outfits match at dinner. Most of the time I spend in the study, reading the books my father left behind. My mother's books are never touched; her discipline is his discipline, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Too many reminders of him, too many reminders of that which stands between us. She studied werewolves.

Nights are the worst. I'll lay in my bed for hours, tossing and turning, until I can't take it anymore. Somehow I end up at Headquarters, somehow I'm at his bedroom, somehow I'm in his bed. This is home to me; where he lies I lie. The sheets smell of sweat and chocolate and tears, of the last night we spent together. I marvel in the smell, every little fact from that night coming to mind as clear as the diamond on my hand. I remember all those stories I got from him, about his childhood and his mother and her death. Without realizing it I'm weeping for him in a way I know he never could. He's always holding back, always trying to stay in control. But I can still let go, let everything crash over me like a wave on the sands of the coast. There he is the first time he told me he loved me; there he is the time he told me about those years alone; there he is the time he got down on one knee and told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.

"_It was her ring. She'd want you to have it."_

"_No, I can't… your mother…"_

"_She told me I'd find someone and that I'd know. Now I know."_

And when morning breaks and the tiniest sliver of light breaks through the window, I count the days it's been since he left and feel that pull in my heart. He let me in so far and yet he's still a mystery. How long will he be gone? Does he think of me? How often? Does he too count the days since he last saw me, smelled me, made me his? I gave myself to him; I am his mate. Until my dying day I will be bound to him, my heart tied to his. I can never touch another man without him knowing, but in truth I could never touch another man anyway. He is the only one, my other half, that which I dreamed about as a little girl.

_taunting me from outside my open window._

My heart begins to race. I sit up, grabbing at my chest. There is this pain like I've never felt before. I cry out from the intensity of it, ripping at my breasts to try and make it stop. In seconds I'm covered in a cold sweat, my body hot from some unseen force. I scream for help for what seems like hours though it was probably but a minute. He asks what's wrong, his skin waxy from the years spent in Azkaban. I mutter one word before it becomes too much, before the spots form in my eyes and the black consumes me.

Remus.

2. _The moon is spilling over and_

_staining the sky with glints and specks of_

_its silver, liquid beauty._

I stand at the door. I watch her tend him, smiling, as if this was just the morning after any other full moon from back when he was in school. She tucks him in like a mother her child, every movement done with love and best wishes. He's been like this for two days, skin pale and icy, no color to his flesh. He looks almost dead. He is almost dead.

"_How do you know?"_

"_I can feel it! Here!" I grab my chest to show him. Severus scorns me but Dumbledore nods. "He's alive, I know it."_

"_Then we will find him. I promise you, we will find him."_

How long he had been bleeding, we don't know. We still don't know what happened, and won't until he wakes up, but they'll still have to wait. I won't let them pester him before he's strong again, before he has time to mend that wall I know he works so hard to keep up. If only he hadn't built it on sand.

She smiles as she passes me. She knows now, I guess. I've stopped hiding how much it hurts. My feet bring me to his room and I just sit for hours watching him, too afraid to touch. What if it's all a dream and I ruin it? What if I touch him and wake up and find out he's dead?

"_You can't do anything for him. He'd be fine if you went home."_

"_I don't care."_

"_Remus has always been a good healer, he'll recover."_

"_I know."_

"_How?"_

"_He promised me."_

You would think it got easier with each full moon, but it doesn't. It becomes harder. At first I didn't really understand what happened, but now I do. Each month we grew closer, our love greater, and his pain became my pain. If only I could take his pain now.

_I know it means I'll see you again_

_and I am waiting for the day to break_

_so that I might mend the wounds_

_we always get…_

It's early in the morning. I'm on her stool, watching him. The moonset has passed; never have I been so glad to see the sunrise as on these days. I watch the rays of light cut across his scarred body, the blanket pulled high to stop the little cold in the damp April air from getting to him. I haven't dared to touch him for three days now. But I want to. I have to. I need to.

A gentle stroke across his forehead, sweeping the hair from his eyes. He's so pretty. He once joked he'll have to dye his hair to look younger for me; he'd hate to look all mismatched when we walk together, after the war. I told him he was being stupid and that I love his hair, like him, just the way it is. And just as I'm about to close my eyes and remember what that beautiful man said to me after that, he stirs. A little shoulder shuffle. A little head turn. His eyes open.

There are tears in my eyes before I know it. He tries to say my name before he sees me, and I cry harder. I tell him I'm here, don't worry, I've been here the whole time and I'm not going anywhere. He moves his fingers a little, and I take his hand. I'm not going anywhere darling, I could never leave you. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

He looks at me, the sunlight blazing across his face in one single streak, magnificently showing off those eyes. A smile and a squeeze of my hand.

Lay with me.

Ok.

I pull off my shirt and go around the bed, not wanting to disturb him. Under the sheets we hide, my warm body pressed against his cool side. He smiles as I put his arm around me, my head on his chest. I stroke his torso gently, like I know he likes me to. I feel the sigh before he speaks.

I missed you.

I smile.

I love you.

And then I kiss him.

…_when we are apart._


End file.
